


And darling, I see the sunshine coming

by munchmulch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, Just me thinking more about indulgence, Multi, Other, They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munchmulch/pseuds/munchmulch
Summary: It's not that Aziraphale is unaware that Crowley is incredibly indulgent of them. It's not even that Aziraphale takes it for granted, though you'd hardly realize it.It's that itfascinatesthem.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 96
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	And darling, I see the sunshine coming

It's not that Aziraphale is unaware that Crowley is incredibly indulgent of them. It's not even that Aziraphale takes it for granted, though you'd hardly realize it. 

It's that it _fascinates_ them, these gestures, the feeling of being seen and cared for in these small consistent ways. Aziraphale seeks it out. Begs for it not in words but complaints and pouts, rewards it with bright beaming smiles. 

In the beginning, they thought it was a temptation. The early days, with this bright-eyed long-haired creature bringing them pretty rocks and food, trying so hard to make them smile. This demon who appeared so unflinchingly kind in a way Aziraphale had never known, in a way that the angel could only assume was to get something in return. 

So Aziraphale made the choice to indulge in it, bask in it. The kindness would end when they chose to reject the eventual temptation. So they let themself consume it, greedily taking whatever they could get. 

But it continues. Year and years without the other shoe dropping. 

Eventually, Aziraphale comes to the baffling conclusion that Crowley is just kind. That there must be something in the demon's nature which wants to reach out, give to others. They watch as Crowley learns to hide that part of themself, to justify each action and weave words until hell applauds virtues by any other name. 

And so the angel starts experimenting, testing the limits of what Crowley will tolerate. Never with direct requests, but instead increasingly ridiculous displays of their own previously unexplored frivolous nature. Simpering requests, _‘- oh I do so miss dumplings! Yes of course I realize we’re eating dumplings at the moment, my dear. But they're not quite as good as the ones we had in Russia are they?’_ And absurdly, Crowley will bring them the better dumplings, old books, will carry the shopping that Aziraphale could lift with one hand but doesn't _want to._

It's not like Crowley fulfills every desire Aziraphale hints at, but they never stop. Never walk away in disgust at the realization of what a small, selfish, ridiculous creature Aziraphale is. 

It is absolutely, utterly addicting. 

And even as the feeling of being indulged produces its own light-headed high, it's not the best part of being around Crowley. Because Crowley is such, such a wonderful person to talk to. To argue with when Aziraphale knows there's nothing serious in the words, that it's practically play. Because watching the demon is an experience all its own, their expression and body language, the unintentionally emotive way they react to things. The intelligence that goes into not compromising who they are, even restricted by hell and all of its expectations. The marvelous ways they care about the world and the people around them, about _Aziraphale._

The truly good parts of Aziraphale, are shaped around that one center-point. The standard Crowley has set. Crowley who recognizes systematic oppression in any form it takes throughout the ages, who learns how to pretend that convincing workers to unionize is 'fermenting discord', who understands so much of what is fair and how the world takes that from people. 

Aziraphale wants to reach for that. Even as they're pulled away from Crowley, trying to change the shape of themself into something palatable enough for Heaven. 

And they know Crowley cares for them, the demon has proven it again and again, but six thousand years down the line and Aziraphale still has no idea _why_. Habit? Lack of options? Aziraphale is the only constant in the demons' life and there is something so sickeningly sad about that. 

And the build up of all of this, the pattern of it must change after the almost apocalypse. There's no other option. When Aziraphale's connections to heaven shatter with broken, grief stricken, consuming relief, something in Aziraphale shatters with it. Swirls within them, the giddy consuming feeling of Crowley filling their chest to replace it, pounding within their corporation. 

*** 

Crowley blinks at the hairpin, a delicate purple snake with tiny black eyes. "What's this then?" 

Aziraphale beams, that feeling simmering under their skin. "I saw it and thought of you!" 

Crowley flushes, eyes winding behind their glasses. "O-oh, alright then." Carefully they pin their growing hair back from their face. 

*** 

"Angel? Is that?" Crowley blinks, staring at Aziraphale's outfit, simple black clothes under, "- is that my fuck shit up jacket?" 

Aziraphale grins, ridiculously, ridiculously happy. “No this is _my_ , ah, _‘fuck shit up’_ , jacket!” they throw Crowley a bundle of cloth. “ _This_ one is yours.” They're honestly surprised that that's what Crowley chose to comment on first, instead of the two crowbars the angel is holding in the other hand. 

Clowley opens their mouth, leaves it open, and Aziraphale suddenly has the urge to bend over and laugh and laugh and laugh. “My dear, lets pry up some hostile architecture.” 

***

Crowley sips the Irish Breakfast tea they decided to favor over coffee that morning. “Angel, did you convince all my plants to flower?” 

Aziraphale giggles. “Why, do you not like it?” 

Crowley stares, then very slowly shakes their head. “No, no I didn’t say that.” They hesitate, “S’ nice.” 

***

“Angel, I grabbed you some of the jam roly-poly things you like. Did you want to go to -” 

And Crowley cuts off, raising the box of pastries just in time because Aziraphale has shot from behind the counter and clamped themself around their middle. 

“Thank you! Oh, oh thank you.” Aziraphale gushes, all of that swirling affection bursting, splattering across their corporation's decorative organs. 

They let Crowley go just long enough to wrap an arm around the demon's back and another around their knees. Aziraphale lifts them, spinning around with a shout of joy. 

Crowley shreaks, sunglasses toppling into their lap. “NHnH, wat? I - It’s just pastries, angel!” 

And this feeling will stay Aziraphale realizes, has grown for six thousand years and is _flourishing_. They laugh with it, bringing Crowley to the couch and flopping down with the demon in their lap. 

They thread their fingers through Crowley’s hair, kiss their forehead, their ear, their cheek. “No, no it’s not _just_ anything. It never was.” 

And Crowley stares at them, eyes wide, completely yellow. Opens their mouth to make a few unintelligible sounds. “I, hhhh, I guess?” 

And it should be obvious that Aziraphale has never loved anyone so much in all of creation. It is obvious, and they’ve done so much wrong, tested and pushed and hurt Crowley in so many ways. But they have eternity now, forever and ever stretched before them and the feeling of it is consuming, is what they are and what they’ll be. 

There’s no description, no words to capture it, but for now they smile, eyes crinkled and too bright. “You are my favorite. You are my absolute, unequivocal favorite, my dear.” 

Crowley drops the box, hides their face in their hands, ears bright red. Peeks at Aziraphale through their fingers, and then slowly reaches forward to hold the angel’s face. “I guess??”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me over at [munchmulch](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/)


End file.
